


When It All Gets Weird

by Vexie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Family, Friendship, Reincarnation, post 2.26, reincarnated Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexie/pseuds/Vexie
Summary: Caleb finds a familiar face in an unfamiliar town. A familiar purple face, with familiar tattoos and familiar scars. A face he last saw buried in a shallow grave. Caleb…what do you do?





	When It All Gets Weird

**Author's Note:**

> I drafted this prior to 2.30, but slid a few things in the final edit, here. This takes place some indeterminable amount of time after the Iron Shepherds, and the Nein are on some in-between-adventure times. I wrote them somewhere new rather than Zadash. 
> 
> The title is from “If I Ever Leave This World Alive” by Flogging Molly which I highly recommend. It’s such a good song for Molly. The full part of the song goes “If I ever leave this world alive / the madness you feel will soon subside / so in a word, don’t shed a tear / I’ll be here when it all gets weird / If I ever leave this world alive”.

        Caleb relaxes into his stride as he disappears into the crowd. For the first time in a while, no one notices him. Without casting a single spell, he’s invisible. No one draws any attention to him. Even though the street is bustling with people out and about for market day, it’s quiet to Caleb. Anonymity settles over him comfortably. The rest of the Nein are on their own errands. Even Nott was more interested in visiting a shop that sells crossbow bolts than accompanying Caleb to the bookshop. His pace quickens a little, thinking about the platinum in his pockets…in addition to the supplies he needs, he figures he might as well treat himself to some new books.  

            Despite the crowds and the slight drizzle in the air, Caleb finds himself in a good mood. It’s not often he gets to be alone anymore. He’s come to not mind the other members of the Nein around (in fact, secretly, he’s starting to prefer it), but it’s nice to just have some quiet time all to himself. He takes his time on his afternoon stroll, stopping to purchase some warm bread, which he stores in one of his cleaner pockets so he can munch on it while he reads.

            As Caleb turns a corner, he’s almost run over by a young, nervous-looking half elf who comes barreling out of a doorway.

            “Oh! I’m terribly sorry!” the half-elf boy says, stopping and looking Caleb over to see if he’s caused him some great damage. He tries to brush Caleb’s coat off, as if he believes he’s the reason for the accumulation of dirt, looking alarmed as his actions have no effect.

            “Don’t worry about—” Caleb trails off, distracted by a shopper over the half-elf’s right shoulder. He doesn’t know why he even noticed this other person. He’s not much of a people-watcher. He’s more of a people-avoider, to tell the truth. But once his eyes fall on the purple tiefling haggling with the stall-keeper, he can’t tear his eyes away. His heart leaps into his throat; he can hear the beats in his ears. No. No, it’s not possible.

            “Sir?” the lad asks, concerned.

            “Hm? Oh, quite all right, thank you,” Caleb says distractedly, pushing past the confused boy.

            The tiefling finishes his transaction and stands, straightening his plain black coat. Maybe it’s not him after all. As Caleb gets closer he notices that this purple tiefling is much less adorned than…than _he_ was. The tiefling looks around for a moment and as he turns, Caleb gets a glimpse of an extremely familiar peacock feather tattoo wrapping up his neck. Caleb stops dead in his tracks, frozen as if by magic. His fingers feel numb, but not from cold. He can’t stop staring at this all too familiar figure as he smiles charmingly at the vendor as they speak to him. That mischievous grin makes Caleb’s entire chest physically ache. It is him. It can’t be anyone else. But _how_?

            Before he can even react, the tiefling walks away from Caleb, giving the vendor a parting wave. Adrenaline pushes through Caleb’s veins, unfreezing him as panic pushes him forward.

            “Mollymauk,” Caleb’s voice breaks—the name he had meant to shout comes out as a whisper. His skin prickles with fear as the tiefling starts to weave his way through the busy streets. He can’t let Molly get away, not after he’s just found him. He hears Lorenzo’s laughter in his ears at the thought of losing him again.

            Caleb follows the tiefling, looking around frantically to not lose sight of him as he navigates the crowd. People move out of his way, looking concerned. Mumurs of this crazy homeless vagrant pass through the crowd. Caleb barely notices them. He catches flashes of purple here and there, letting him know he’s on the right path. The part of Caleb’s mind that’s not focused on the hunt is carrying on a dialogue—cursing Molly for not taking his brightly colored coat, which would make this so much easier—they left it for him. Why would he not take it with him? Does he not know? _What_ does he know? Did he read the note Caleb slipped into his pocket? Is that why he’s here instead of Zadash? Does he remember anything at all?

            Just as he’s about to catch up, the tiefling ducks into a pub. It’s a smaller pub with a friendly atmosphere, owned by a family of halflings. Caleb sighs in relief. The chase is over. Better still, if he knows Molly, the tiefling will probably be in the pub for a while. He can contact the Nein and they can meet him together. He can already see Jester’s face light up, and the relief in Fjord and Beau’s eyes. Things will go back to the way they were!

            Caleb pulls wire from his pocket and begins the movements to send a Message to Nott, but he stops before the spell is completed, doubt creeping into his mind. He’s acting too rashly. What if he’s mistaken? What if it’s not Molly, just someone with a similar tattoo? Or what if it is technically their friend’s body but he’s not _Molly_ anymore? What if he’s someone else? He could be Lucien again, or maybe he’s someone entirely new. There are too many unknown factors at play here. He can’t do this to the Nein. He can’t give them Mollymauk and then take him away again. It wouldn’t be fair to any of them.

            Slowly, Caleb puts his wire away. He has to be sure. For the Nein. He takes a deep breath and enters the pub. Molly— _maybe Molly_ , he reminds himself sternly, is waiting his turn at the bar, nodding his head along with a song being sung on the small stage in one corner of the room.

Caleb’s heart hammers hard in his chest as he approaches Molly; his palms begin to sweat. His ever-calculating mind thinks of all the ways this could go horribly wrong. How is he even going to go about this conversation? He knows he’s the wrong person for this—it shouldn’t be him. He’s no good at talking to other people. If only Fjord or Jester or Nott were here. With bitter irony, Caleb realizes that of all people, Molly himself would really know how to handle this situation the best. Not Caleb. Caleb has no idea what to do—just that he needs to do something.

            Before he can overthink it anymore, Caleb reaches out and grabs the tiefling by the arm, spinning him around. For a moment he can’t breathe because _gods_ it’s Molly. Everything about him is Mollymauk. The facial features belong to him and the scars and tattoos are just as he remembers. The look of shock and alarm that enters his crimson eyes is so familiar…the way his eyebrow arches up and his mouth opens with a rebuke not yet spoken, held back with his curiosity to see how things would turn out.

            “Molly? Mollymauk Tealeaf?” Caleb says, the words tumbling from his mouth more aggressively than he means them to. He stares into that face, searching, hoping—there it is! There’s a flicker of recognition but it’s _wrong_ somehow. It’s not the expression of a man seeing an old friend. It’s a fractional widening of the eyes, a sudden alertness…this is the recognition of a man hearing a name he thought he wouldn’t ever really hear. A dull, icy pain spreads through Caleb’s chest, just as it did on the last day he stared into this face. _No, please_. He gives Molly’s arm a shake.

            “Do you know me?” Caleb asks, desperation entering his voice unasked for. There is no response. “Does the Mighty Nein mean anything to you? Anything at all?”

            He trails off into a whisper, already knowing the answer. He curses himself for losing control, struggling to regain it. His fingers start to hurt, reminding him how tightly he’s holding the other man’s arm.

            “Are you all right, friend?” The stranger asks in Molly’s voice—smooth and confident, full of friendly concern.

            Caleb searches those red eyes, looking for anything at all of his friend. Instead of Molly, he finds fear and apprehension, and a painfully familiar guardedness. Not painful because it reminds him of Molly, but because he’s seen that guarded expression in his own eyes.

            _“This is my worst nightmare,”_ he remembers Molly saying when they’d run into Cree. If Molly recognizes him or anything he’s said, he must be terrified. He, once again, woke up underground. Caleb suddenly realizes what a foolish thing the note he’d written was. What could Molly possibly do with his name, their name, and the name of a town he probably doesn’t even know. None of that would mean anything to him. If he was smart, he would steer clear of the Mighty Nein, Zadash, and most certainly avoid anyone known as the Gentleman. How can you explain someone’s life to them in a hastily written note written in a moment of grief?   

            Taking a deep, calming breath, Caleb releases Moly’s arm. He realizes he’s shaking. It takes a moment for him to find his voice again.

            “I…I apologize,” he says quietly. “I must have been mistaken.”

             Molly visibly relaxes, straightening his coat.  

            “It’s just,” Caleb continues slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on Molly’s, “that you remind me of a good friend I lost very recently. Sometimes the heart fools one.”

            Molly flashes him that brilliant, familiar grin.

            “It’s all right. No harm done,” he says. He seems to think a moment before clapping Caleb on the shoulder. “Tell you what, why don’t I buy us a drink and we can toast your friend’s memory? I’ll even make it a bottle if you’ll tell me a little more about this dashing fellow.”

            This is the last thing that Caleb wants to do. He has to fight back—something. Either a hysterical laugh or a sob. He’s never believed in talking—what good does it do? Telling Molly’s new form about his old life won’t make him into _their_ Mollymauk. It won’t bring him back. Nothing can. More than anything, Caleb wants to walk way and start pretending he never saw Molly here—and figure out a way to keep everyone else from finding him. To protect them all from what he’s feeling right now. Seeing Molly alive and well without an idea who he is…it’s almost harder than leaving him buried on the side of the road.

            He looks up at Molly and is surprised to find Molly looking back at him imploringly. _Empty_ , he remembers Molly saying before. The last time he’d woken, he’d only been able to say the word “empty.” He woke up with nothing and built the person they came to know as Mollymauk from the ground up. Caleb had been jealous at first—to not remember? To start over with a _tabula_ rasa, as it were? What a gift! To have nothing left of his past sounded like a dream at the time. But he hadn’t missed the hollow look of old fear that had passed across Molly’s features during the retelling. The experience had clearly been horrible.

            This time, he could alleviate that. Molly had been afraid of what kind of person Lucien had been. This person—whoever he might be now—would have no reason to fear Molly. Caleb owes the circus man that much.  With the heavy feeling he gets often in the Mighty Nein—the feeling of doing something he dreads—Caleb nods slowly.

            “Ja, all right,” Caleb says. He runs both hands through his hair as Molly flashes him a winning smile and plunges through the line at the bar to put in their order.

            Caleb scans the room and manages to find a table against the wall—it’s as secluded as they’ll get here. He claims the table and takes a few moments to think of what he wants to say. Glancing around to ensure no one is watching, he snaps his fingers under the table, summoning Frumpkin to him. His familiar materializes on his knees, immediately butting Caleb’s waiting hand with a reassuring purr.

            “Thank you, friend,” Caleb murmurs, petting Frumpkin gently.

The cat nuzzles his hand. He feels the question touching his mind. _Are you all right?_

            “No,” Caleb admits, “this whole situation is wrong. I should honestly leave before he gets back. What do I owe this schmuck? He was an ass to me, to Nott...to all of us, really.”

            Frumpkin gently sets his teeth on Caleb’s hand. Not biting hard, but giving a gentle reprimand. Caleb sighs.

            “I know, I know. I just…would love an excuse to leave, that’s all. But I suppose it can’t be helped, can it?” he says.

            “You know, I’m not one to judge, but a man looking at his lap talking to himself…” Molly tilts his head to the side, making a clucking noise with his tongue as he sets a bottle down in the middle of the table.

“I wasn’t—” Caleb stops and hesitates for a moment, seeing Molly’s teasing smile. _See?_ He thinks. _Not nice._ He sends Frumpkin across the table, weaving around the bottle. The cat sniffs Molly curiously, letting out an inquiring chirp.

            “Well hello,” Molly says, reaching out to Frumpkin. He looks up at Caleb. “Friend of yours?”  

            “This is my cat, Frumpkin. He’s a very good friend,” Caleb says, granting the cat a rare warm smile.

            “Charming. Are cats allowed in this pub?” Molly asks, scratching Frumpkin’s ears.

            Granting the tiefling a small smile, Caleb snaps his fingers again and Frumpkin vanishes. The look of genuine surprise on Molly’s face is almost comical.

            “He is a magic cat. I can ask him to move between planes at will,” Caleb explains. “He is very useful, in addition to being a good friend.”

            “I can see that,” Molly says, sitting down in the chair opposite Caleb and setting two glasses on the table.

            The two of them are silent as Molly uncorks the bottle and fills both glasses with a swirling violet liquid. Fitting. Molly hands one glass to Caleb and drinks deeply from the other. Caleb sniffs the liquid, then takes a small sip. The drink is chilled and fruity, with a late-appearing spicy kick.

            “So,” Molly says finally, breaking the silence. “What did you say this friend’s name was?”

            “Mollymauk Tealeaf was his name. Molly, to his friends,” Caleb begins with a deep sigh. _Here we go_ , he thinks.

            “Kind of a weird name,” Molly says. Caleb almost asks him what he goes by now, but decides against it. The man who thirsts for all knowledge doesn’t want to know. Somehow, he can almost fool himself into believing that if he doesn’t know Molly’s new name, this person in front of him can still be Molly. A part of Caleb is waiting for Molly to start laughing at him and tell him that this was all just a prank of some kind. Asking would be giving in to the ploy—Caleb’s smarter than that.

            “When we met, Mollymauk was part of a circus. He looked the part—he would wear all of these chains and decorations on his horns and rings and bracelets…and he had this coat. Long and many, many colors. Nott—one of our friends—called him a Rainbow Man, and she was right. He was vibrant in clothing and personality. He read fortunes using tarot cards, but mostly he read fortunes by reading people. He was very good at that, sometimes annoyingly so,” Caleb says, staring into the drink cupped between his hands. His voice takes on a quiet, dreamy quality. He doesn’t look up at Molly, but if he were to do so, he’d find the tiefling watching him intently, drinking in this description.

            “Molly was also skilled at acrobatics,” Caleb smiles, still not looking up. “I remember in Humperdook, we needed a distraction, so he had Yasha throw him up in the air so he could land on a fence and perform some acrobatics. He missed that first landing, but still managed to gracefully tumble on top of the fence and stroll along it, swinging his swords around and doing cartwheels. He was wild like that, ready to perform at the drop of a hat. And always with a smile, whether he needed to do acrobatics or crawl around a hospital bleeding onto the floor, vomiting like a poltergeist.”

            “Did that second one really happen?” Molly asks, leaning back with wide eyes.

            “Ja. We needed information. It was a bit of a shit-show, really, but Mollymauk committed to the performance. And as horrible as it was, I think he had fun,” Caleb shakes his head at the memory. At the time, he’d been incredibly annoyed at the complete disaster the Hospital Infiltration had been. He’d gone in to find his associates making idiots of themselves, almost getting them caught. Looking back though, it was almost laughable.

            “And that was his job in your group? The Mighty—what was it?” Molly tilts his head to one side.

            “Nein. We’re the Mighty Nein. And sometimes it was. Molly was good at distractions or sometimes he was good at talking to people. People seemed to like him, even when he was a bit of an ass. He was also a decent fighter. He had these two swords that he could activate with magic. He used blood magic which could be useful, for a price, of course,” Caleb frowns, thinking of that fateful last fight. Molly had tried to use blood magic, but he’d already been too weak. That had been Lorenzo’s opening. Foolish. Risky. But…that had been Molly.

            “Blood magic…what does that mean?”

            Caleb looks up at Molly. He looks curios, but also a little horrified. Perhaps this incarnation has not discovered his abilities yet. Molly had shied away from the question of how he’d discovered his powers.

            “Blood magic…is a somewhat dark magic. Those who use it have a close bond with death and vitality. A user can pay with their own blood to activate weapons which with they have bonded, or to use curses or spells. It’s a very morbid order of magic, but if used properly, can be very powerful,” Caleb explains, summarizing from years of book learning without getting into the gruesome details. His instructors hadn’t wanted to get into blood magic, but Caleb, always curious, had crept into the Soltryce library late at night to read accounts of those who had traveled down that dark road, fraternizing with death as a patron saint. The accounts were not pretty. Blood magic comes with a high price.

            “So this Mollymauk was into dark magic? Was he evil?” Molly is now looking down at his own drink (which is considerably less full than Caleb’s). His face is clouded over. Not for the first time, Caleb wonders what kind of person Lucien had been. He’s long suspected that Lucien was the one who had traipsed too far into Bloodhunting, resulting in the reincarnating person he’s drinking with. Molly hadn’t wanted to know what kind of person Lucien was, but Caleb figures he must have guessed…at least a little bit. He’d figured out too much of his abilities not to know.

            “I don’t think so, no. Not for a long time, anyway. The darkness in that field comes from those that push too far and try to gain too much power. Molly was never like this, in the time that I knew him,” Caleb says, voice as firm and as reassuring as he knows how to make it. “Maybe good isn’t the word for what Molly was. It doesn’t fit any of us to tell you the truth, but Molly certainly wasn’t evil. He was…” _Happy,_ Nott fills in from his memory, looking up at him with sad eyes. “He sought after happiness and fun. He was a free spirit. His goal—as far as I can figure anyway--was to enjoy life to its fullest. Sometimes that meant drinks and…and carnal pleasure. Sometimes that meant magic mushrooms. Sometimes that meant hunting down the people who make the world a darker place and getting rid of them for good.”

            Molly thinks this over for a few moments. He drains his glass and refills it.

            “The Mighty Nein…can you tell me about them?” he asks. “So far, you’ve mentioned your friend Molly, someone named Nott, and someone named Yasha….and of course there’s you. So that’s four.”

            Caleb lets out a laugh.

            “We were never nine total,” he admits. “Originally there were seven of us, but, if we include everyone we’ve given an honorary title to, I think we’re up to around twelve or thirteen members. It’s a bit of a misnomer. And to tell you the truth, it was meant to be a joke, a play on word “No” in Zemnian. We used the name once because we needed one but…it stuck. Somehow it stuck.”

            “It has a nice ring to it,” Molly agrees.

            Caleb is silent for a moment, recollecting.

            “We…never really meant to come together as a group. We all just happened to be in the same place at the wrong time. We were staying in an inn…originally it was myself and Nott wandering on our own. There were Jester, Fjord, and Beau, who had met up previously and were on their way to the Soltryce Academy. The three of them were divvying up payment they’d received for some reason—I don’t know that I ever knew why—and Nott was considering lifting some of that gold from them. And then…then Mollymauk was there. He offered to do some fortune telling, then invited all of us to see the circus he worked in. It would have been a pleasant evening, if the circus hadn’t been attached by one of its own performers. For whatever reason, we all stayed to help get the situation under control. I couldn’t tell you why. Because we stayed, we were all suspected of committing the crime. We banded together to clear our names. After that…we figured we worked so well together, we might as well stick together,” Caleb says. “It was good, you know? Traveling with a group of people. It had been a long time for me.”

            “It sounds like everyone got pretty close,” Molly says softly.

            “Ja, I think so,” Caleb agrees, his eyes on the grain of the table. He doesn’t mention how many times he’s almost cut and run, either to go back to just him and Nott, or…more recently…to let Nott stay with this family she loves without him around to mess it up. She deserves a better companion than him, anyway. He’s reminded again about how he’s the wrong person to tell this story. He almost feels guilty for claiming a closeness he can’t be sure he feels…or even if he _should_ feel it. What right does he have?

            “Tell me about them,” Molly says. Caleb looks up at him and finds hunger in his crimson eyes. He remembers how much Molly continued to talk about the circus even after leaving. He loved being a part of the big, bustling circus. He’d loved being a part of the Mighty Nein, too, even if they’d been so much smaller than his previous group. Molly didn’t seem like the kind of person to do well alone. Yet here he was.

            Caleb sets his resolve, picks up his glass, and drains it. He sets it in front of Molly to be refilled, which the tiefling does. Then Caleb does something that he never does. He talks. As the alcohol dulls his constant fear and anxiety, he tells Molly about the Mighty Nein’s adventures. He tells him about the circus adventure. He tells him about Zadash—about the underground society and their botched stealth missions. He tells him about the games they played at the Harvest Close Festival and about the victory party—about Mollymauk bringing the group fruits and claiming to be a god (Long may he reign!). He tells him about their adventures on the road and the people they met along the way. About battles and shenanigans. About victories and losses.

            Molly hadn’t wanted to know anything about Lucien. But this incarnation has a million questions about Mollymauk. It’s as if he can’t get enough. He laughs at some of their misadventures. He listens on the edge of his seat during some of their more daring triumphs. He smiles to hear about Kiri. He even sighs when Caleb tells of their bittersweet goodbye. The stories go on and on, but this stranger behind Molly’s eyes never tires.

            Finally, only one story remains.

            “And…I hate to ask you, after all of this. But tell me, friend, how…how did Mollymauk die?” Molly asks. The bottle is almost empty at this point. Caleb’s bread has been divided and eaten. Nothing but crumbs remain.

            Caleb should have known this question would come, but for a while, he’d been lost in remembering. Laughing about the good times with Molly’s new form had almost lulled him into feeling as though this _was_ Molly, rehashing their own travels. It was almost like having his friend back again.

            He looks up, once again, into the tiefling’s face and finds a hollowness, a _need_ to know. What’s not being asked is _Why did I wake up on the side of the road? Whose blood did I find amid the cart tracks? Which of these scars put me there?_

            “We were on the road to Shady Creek Run,” Caleb says slowly. “Jester, Fjord, and Yasha were stolen from us in the night. The people who took them—the Iron Shepherds came without a sound. None of us woke during the struggle.”

            “The Iron Shepherds…” Molly repeats in a hushed tone.

            “They were a cruel group of people. Slavers. They stole people without reservation. Men, women, children of all races. They tortured and experimented on them. Sometimes they sold them. They murdered them and even devoured them. Innocent people were taken away to face terrible things and worse deaths,” Caleb spits. Never had he felt such rage as he had inside that fortress, seeing the things that went on there. He crosses his arms to keep them from trembling. This story is harder to tell than he’d even thought it would be.

            “We intercepted them on the road and attempted to ambush them,” Caleb continues. “We were laughably unprepared. But I suppose…we were desperate. You see, Fjord was the strategist. Yasha was our strength. And Jester was our healer. Without them, we were just a trash wizard, a little goblin, an angry monk, and a sarcastic circus man. And a surly dwarf we found on the way. We weren’t organized, we were going in exhausted and afraid. We weren’t _ready_. But we just…attacked them.”

            Caleb falls silent. He pours more liquid into his glass, but doesn’t drink it. He stares at the violet swirls, every mistake he made leading up to that ambush replaying loudly in his mind.

            “And then?” Molly urges.

            “We were not doing well. None of us were in a very good place. Mollymauk leapt forward to protect Beauregard. He tried place a blood curse on their leader, Lorenzo. But he was already weakened and he could not withstand the blood price. He faltered. Seizing his opening, Lorenzo thrust his glaive into the chest of our dear Mollymauk. He fought to the end. His last action was to spit in Lorenzo’s face, even with that monster’s glaive sticking out from his chest,” Caleb says each word slowly and precisely, as if he were reading from a text. “Lorenzo said he wanted us to learn a lesson. He murdered our friend as an example. He left the rest of us, wounded and weary. We had no choice but to say goodbye to Mollymauk in the very place he died. We wrapped him in that stupid tapestry he bought and left his magical coat waving like a banner in the wind as we walked wearily away. It was an odd splash of color in that barren place. Just like Molly was in our lives.”

            After a few moments, Caleb looks up. Molly is looking through him, his hand on his chest. Caleb wonders what the scar looks like, hidden beneath his clean linen shirt. His complexion has paled to a light lavender. Caleb doesn’t know what to say. He summons Frumpkin onto Molly’s shoulder. The cat nuzzles the tiefling’s cheek, surprising him out of his blank stare. Molly gives Frumpkin a small, grateful smile and resumes scratching his ears. Focusing back on Caleb, Molly takes a deep breath.

            “The others? What—if you don’t mind me asking—what happened? To Fjord and Jester and Yasha?”

            “We rescued them, with the help of some new friends and an old one,” Caleb says. “They are alive and well today.” As far as they know. Yasha has not yet returned to them. Molly looks visibly relieved.

            “I’m glad to hear it,” he says.

            “We killed every last Iron Shepherd in the place,” Caleb says. He lifts his chin, feeling that hot anger burning beneath his chest again. “I killed Lorenzo myself. I…I burned him alive for what he did to the families and children he hurt, for our friends, and for killing y—Mollymauk.”

            Molly smiles, though tears are present in the corners of his eyes.

            “I thank you, Caleb Widogast, for sharing your friend with me. He sounds like quite the character. I’m honored to share similarities with him,” he says, reaching across the table, holding out a scarred hand.

            Caleb looks at the offered hand for a moment, then grips it tightly. He’s surprised when it’s warm, as if he expected to feel the cold, clammy skin of the dead man he’d buried. This hand is full of life and strength, the way Molly should be.

            “He was. He was as madman, a mischief-maker, and to be quite frank, an ass. But he was our friend. He is missed. And he is loved very, very dearly,” he says, keeping his eyes on Molly’s.

            “Thank you,” Molly whispers. Caleb can’t read the expression on his face this time. He nods and releases Molly’s hand.

            Molly divides the remainder of the bottle between their two glasses. He raises his glass.

            “To Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he begins. Caleb raises his own glass.

            “And to the Mighty Nein. May they never lose another friend,” Molly finishes, smiling.

            Caleb bows his head in thanks, but any toast he’d wish to add, he keeps to himself. They drink.

            Molly sets his empty glass on the table and stands.

            “I’ve spent more time in here than I meant to. I enjoyed our conversation. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday, Herr Widogast?” Molly’s teasing grin is back, accompanied by a wink as he removes Frumpkin from his shoulder and sets him down gently on the table. Caleb gets that strange feeling, as if Mollymauk is just conning him. He’s so… _similar_. So familiar. Yet…so different.  

            “Perhaps so,” Caleb says, summoning Frumpkin to him. The cat purrs warmly in his arms.

            Molly gives a wave of farewell and begins making his way through the crowded pub toward the door. Caleb watches him walk away, feeling drained and heavy. He watches him for a few moments even after he walks out of the pub and back onto the wet streets.

            “See you later, Circus Man,” he says quietly. Frumpkin butts his face gently. He puts both arms around the cat and buries his face in the soft fur. He breaths deep for a minute, two, three, then sends Frumpkin away and stands up.

  
            The bookstore isn’t as exciting and relaxing as Caleb had anticipated. He finds useful books and one work of fiction that seems interesting, though as soon as it’s stowed away, he can’t recall what it was supposed to be about. He’s haunted by the color purple—he sees flashes out of the corner of his eye everywhere he looks. He doesn’t know if he’s hoping to see Molly again or dreading it.

            He returns to the inn with heavy steps, wondering what he’s going to tell the Nein. Or, rehearsing the things he would say if he were going to tell them at all. He already knows he’s not going to tell them anything, though this isn’t a burden he looks forward to carrying. This afternoon’s conversations is going to be one more secret locked away deep inside him. He can’t give them that hope and crashing disappointment. And worse, he can’t give them that lead. They would want to find him and help him remember—whether he wants to or not. He can’t do that to whoever it is that Molly has become. If someday he chooses to be Mollymauk again, well then so be it. But he won’t see them force him into that role.

 

            Much later that evening, a very successful Mighty Nein burst into the common room of the inn they’re staying in, laughing and chattering about their day’s errands. Beau is immediately reprimanded by the innkeeper for continuing the conversation she was having with Fjord about the proper form for throwing stars—complete with demonstration. Jester follows close behind Caduceus, carrying what appears to be a large bag of groceries, while Caducues carefully cradles enough new teacups for the entire party. The two of them seem to be deep in a serious discussion.

            Nott immediately locates Caleb. He’s sitting on one of the long benches near the fire, a book open on his lap. He’s looking at it, but Nott can tell he’s not actually reading the words. His eyes aren’t moving. He looks paler than usual, the circles under his eyes standing out a little more than usual. She kicks herself for leaving him on his own all day.

            Nott runs over to Caleb and climbs up to sit next to him. To his credit, he gives her a small smile.

            “Ah, hello,” he says. “Did you have a good day in the town?”

            “We did. Jester bought us some pastries. Do you want one?” Nott offers.

“No,” Caleb says, “But thank you.”  

            “Did you find everything you needed? Did you need any more gold? I meant to ask you before we left,” Nott says.

            “I got everything just fine,” Caleb says. His eyes travel back to the book on his lap. He frowns, as if confused.

            “Hey Caleb? Are you all right?” Nott asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

            Caleb closes the book and puts it down on his other side. He laughs, a small, ironic laugh, and wraps a very confused Nott into a tight hug, pulling her onto his lap. She squeaks in surprise, then hesitantly wraps her arms around him.

            “Caleb?” she asks, sounding a little frightened.

            “I had a drink with a ghost today, I think,” Caleb says, releasing Nott. She sits back and stares at him, eyes wide.

            “Really? What was it like? Was it scary? Did he hurt you?” Nott fires the questions out rapidly, her golden eyes roaming over him, checking for ghostly damage.

            “I’m fine, really. It was just a drink and a chat,” Caleb assures her. “I only hope I was able to put his soul at ease. If only a little bit.”

            Nott narrows her eyes, small green face full of doubt, then hops off his lap, calling for Caduceus to make Caleb a nice healing tea.

            Caleb watches the Mighty Nein as they go to Nott to see what the fuss is about. The ache in his chest subsides a little. Molly brought them together in life, and bound them tightly together in death. All of the stories he told today…all of the tales of Mollymauk and the Mighty Nein…he wasn’t sure what they meant to whoever it was he told them to. But those were the stories of Caleb’s family, the way they used to be.

            Across the room, Caduceus looks up at Caleb. Their eyes meet and Caduceus raises his eyebrows, then nods with a small smile. He bows his head slightly, as if asking for Caleb’s indulgence, then digs through his shopping bag for a few bags of leaves and his teapot. He disappears into the kitchen.

            There will be more stories, Caleb decides. Stories of his family as they are now, and however they will be. For the first time in a very long time, Caleb has a feeling that everything just might be all right. 

           

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this one. It's my little tribute to Mollymauk. Long may he reign. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought! I binged this show in a really ridiculously short amount of time, so if I got anything wrong, please let me know...I had a lot of Wikia pages open to try to check my facts but there's a lot of content to review! 
> 
> Thanks again! ...is it Thursday yet?


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